#but its not right to use Colon as a mirror!

[anarchblr]

i've always felt uncomfortable with "all usamericans benefit from usamerican imperialism" not from the perspective of myself or such, but simply from the angle that i find myself uncomfortable stating that indigenous populations benefit from their own imperialist subjugation

i do not think i am informed enough on the topic to have a clear analysis though, is there anything you would be willing to offer thoughts on in the matter? essentially i am concerned as indigenous usamericans live in abominable conditions precisely because of the us existing and are denied self determination because of the existence of the us, and i know acquaintances to state the financials on the rez mirror that of imperialized nations in the global south, with such matters as a simple local food costing half a months wages and other such unbearable subjugation. is there information in such benefits that coexist with such subjugation, are there complexities such as passport access complicating the discussion and conveying benefits which must be acknowledged?

I get your hesitation, and usually I would feel the same way because most people who make these points mishandle their positions and spout some psuedo-maoist psuedo-third worldism which does in fact unfairly put the crux of marginalized people in themselves, but I read over the post I reblogged again, and found no such complaint to raise with it, though, of course, the language is very similar—perhaps some clarification is in order.

The very basic premise that every American citizen benefits from imperialism, minorities included is self-evidently, unfalsifiably, demonstrably true; to this, empire employs the macabre logic of a rising tide lifting all boats, in this analogy it would be appropriate to see the blood of subaltern as said tide.

You might sense here the tension, the contradiction, of class struggle; you might disavow Empire, and be for social revolution, but still remain hesitant to take this premise on its face, and maybe that's why you message me, this is all fine, do not worry. You are right in sensing this tension, to not readily embrace and defend nationalist arguments in the face of revolutionary analysis, but it seems to me that your hesitation is misguided, but not wrong, pointing towards something, but not sure where. In short, your tension comes not from recognizing that Empire benefits from the subaltern but by what Empire means: you hold onto the category of "citizen" or "citizenry" as a valid axis or venue of struggle, and idk if you recognize that.

See, the original post pointed out "USAmerican citizens", you maybe didn't see or appreciate this important category (tbf I doubt op realized it themselves but that's neither here nor there) since you didn't mention it in your ask, but it makes all the difference. "Citizen" is only a valid category in a republic, the last word of the State Socialists and of democrats; but this category exists on the precarious cliff leading into non-citizen, never in and by itself. And we know this because of the struggle around who gets to benefit from it and who gets punished by its repeal: criminals, outlaws and the uncivilized. A thing to remember here, since you brought up indigenous peoples, the rez, and their relation to the subaltern, is that the wars of colonization were fought as an explicit rejection of European —not just colonial— but rule wholesale as we read over Andrea's excellent article:

De Vitoria recognized the humanity of Indians, but still needed to find ways through which to justify the conquest of their lands and the Spanish possession of dominion over them. [..] If an Indian Nation refused the right of the Spanish to travel through their territory or refused the Spanish the right to trade with Indians, Indian Nations were acting against the Law of Nations, or ius gentium (278-284). Acting against ius gentium was to act against reason itself. This would render Indians “mad” and allow the Spanish to declare dominion over the land that Indians occupied. They could claim dominion because the Spanish were required to set up a civil society in order to teach the Indians how to be reasonable. In more direct terms, this meant that the Spanish had the right to intervene in the lives of Indians, an intervention that would result in the loss of tens of millions of lives. [..] Although de Vitoria asserted that Indians possessed reason, he then posited the possibility that “these barbarians, though not totally mad… are nevertheless so close to being mad, that they are unsuited to setting up or administering a commonwealth both legitimate and ordered in human and civil terms” (290). This would mean that [..] they lacked a basic precondition for ownership. Indians did not even have to break the law of nations, they could simply be found to be so deficient in reason that they lacked the ability to claim dominion over their land. [The Reds and the Rez: How Communists Fail Indigenous Nations]

Added to this one must also bear in mind Shoatz' own article:

[F]rom the 17th century until the abolition of slavery in the U.S., there were also Maroon communities in areas stretching from the pine barrens of New Jersey, down the east coast to Florida, and in the Appalachian mountains and later to migrate to Mexico’s northern border regions. The best known (but little studied) ones were those that occupied the dismal swamp of Virginia and North Carolina and the Seminoles of Florida [..] an ethnic group made up of Africans and Amerindians who came together to form the ethnicity: just like the Boni Maroons were formed in Suriname. [..] the descendents of the Seminoles in Mexico and the U.S. still fiercely guard their communities against the Mexican and U.S. governments: in Florida they’re recognized as a semi-autonomous tribe, and the Africans (Seminole negroes) in Oklahoma, Texas and Mexico also distinguish themselves from their neighbors – while calling Blacks in the U.S. ‘state negroes.’ According to New Afrikan nationalist cadre from the U.S. who have worked around them, the African Seminoles never considered themselves citizens of the U.S. like African-Americans do. [The Dragon and the Hydra, emphasis mine]

But this is better understood through Indigenous Action's most excellent article:

The genealogy of the Native vote is tied to boarding schools, Christian indoctrination, allotment programs, and global wars that established U.S. imperialism. U.S. assimilation policies were not designed as a benevolent form of harm reduction, they were an extension of a military strategy that couldn’t fulfill its genocidal programs. Citizenship was forced onto Indigenous Peoples as part of colonial strategy to, “Kill the Indian and save the man.” There was a time when Indigenous Peoples wanted nothing to do with U.S. citizenship and voting. [..] When the U.S. constitution was initially created, each state could determine who could be citizens at their discretion. Some states rarely granted citizenship and thereby conferred the status to select Indigenous Peoples but only if they dissolved their tribal relationships and became “civilized.” This typically meant that they renounced their tribal affiliation, paid taxes, and fully assimilated into white society. Alexandra Witkin writes in To Silence a Drum: The Imposition of United States Citizenship on Native Peoples, “Early citizenship policy rested upon the assumption that allegiance could only be given to one nation; thus peoples with an allegiance to a Native nation could not become citizens of the United States.” The preference though was not to respect and uphold Indigenous sovereignty, but to condemn it as “uncivilized” and undermine it through extreme tactics of forced assimilation. When the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified in 1868, it granted citizenship only to men born or naturalized in the U.S., this included former slaves but was interpreted to not apply to Indigenous Peoples except for those who assimilated and paid taxes. The 15th Amendment was subsequently passed in 1870 to ensure the right of U.S. citizens to vote without discrimination of “race, color, or previous condition of servitude” but was still interpreted to exclude Indigenous Peoples who did not assimilate. In some ways this was an act of disenfranchisement, but more clearly it was a condition imposed upon Indigenous Peoples facing scorched-earth military campaigns and the threat of mass death marches to concentration camps. The message was clear, “assimilate or perish.”

[..] The U.S.’s genocidal military campaigns known collectively as the “Indian Wars” supposedly came to an end in 1924. That same year U.S. Congress passed the Indian Citizenship Act (ICA) which granted citizenship to Indigenous Peoples but still allowed for states to determine if they could vote. As a result, some states barred Indigenous Peoples from voting until 1957. Until passage of the ICA, which was a regulatory action approved with no hearings, Indigenous Peoples were considered “Domestic Subjects” of the U.S. Government. The Haudeneshonee Confederacy completely rejected imposition of U.S. citizenship through the IAC and called it an act of treason.

[..] Perhaps one of the clearest illustrations of assimilationist strategies regarding citizenship and voting comes from Henry S. Pancoast, one of the founders of the Christian white supremacist group, the Indian Rights Association (IRA). Pancoast stated, “Nothing [besides United States Citizenship] will so tend to assimilate the Indian and break up his narrow tribal allegiance, as making him feel that he has a distinct right and voice in the white man’s nation.” The IRA’s initial stated objective was to “bring about the complete civilization of the Indians and their admission to citizenship.” The IRA considered themselves reformists and successfully lobbied Congress to establish the boarding school system, pass the Dawes Act, reform the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and pass the Indian Reorganization Act of 1834. U.S. citizenship was imposed to destroy Indigenous sovereignty and facilitate mass-scale land theft. To this day, the “Native vote” is bound to assimilationist conditions that serve colonial interests.

This struggle metamorphozed under colonial rule into a twisted shadow of its former drive in its forced proximity to American society following its own internal logic, having its liberatory drive circumcised into seeking ameliorations within the system it once sought to overcome, and which in large parts still does. This is only natural of a defeated, cowed people beaten by an absolute magnimaty of power

It's not for nothing I've said before that, talking about October 7 in Palestine,

the weird thing about the pearl-clutching around civilians being attacked by an oppressed group seeking liberation is that, the category of “civilian” is already a violent one, doubly so when in the dress of a settler-colonial subject. “civilian” is not some prediscursive entity or subject that is removed from or comes anterior to State violence, it is in fact a result of State violence that then reproduces the State-violence that created it. To be a civilian is violence, violent even to the individual subject, the flesh-and-blood civilian one would talk about.

The violence done to the [..] civilians [..] [is] the direct result of the violence [done by their own] State. It is at the feet of colonialism that we must lay the blame and bodies of those hurt by decolonization.

to be a civilian is not to be “innocent”, contrary to popular opinion, nor to be dismarriaged from the violence of that position: simply to be at the forefront of where the violence against it will take place when all other alternatives have become exhausted, as we've seen in the latest developments happen in Palestine.

The category of "citizen" has been a resisted one, even in the US, by those who have always found freedom outside of it, from the maroons to every indigenous peoples; if the term "second class citizen" holds any weight, let it be recognized that it is in the State's reluctance to expand its ranks in favor of maintaining a greater pool of free [or at least cheaper] labor.

That being said, I hope you understand that I do not put the rez, for however much it's politic may or may not be assimilated, within the category of USAmerican, nor citizen, nor do I do the same with every other indigenous people born here or naturalized, such as our black brethren; I follow I deeper logic, that of decolonization.

With such a perspective, knowing history, I feel comfortable with this position, I hope this makes sense.

Pardon the late reply.

[iyoonjh]

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 15: Over 1,000,000 Heartbeats Per Second, but Jesus Christ who let the dogs out?

wc: 6536 words

Soobin was going to pass out.

Like, not metaphorically. Not the oh, I’m so nervous I might faint, ha-ha kind of thing. No—he was genuinely preparing himself for actual loss of consciousness.

Because she was coming over. To his apartment. The same apartment where he had cried over Your Name, kept an unopened One Piece figure on the bookshelf for three years out of fear of “ruining the box,” and owned exactly zero furniture that could be classified as “adult.”

And she—Y/N—was coming here voluntarily. After the kiss.

Which had haunted him every waking second since it happened.

Soobin stood in the middle of his living room, staring at his bookshelf like the books had personally betrayed him. Why had he alphabetized them? That was insane, he was insane. No normal person alphabetized their manga by author and series title. That was the behavior of someone who paid taxes with a sword and lived in a moss-covered cave.

His hands flew to the shelf. No time. Chaos was more human. He began to de-organize everything with the urgency of someone erasing a crime scene. Then paused. Was chaotic worse? Would it scream “this guy hasn’t emotionally evolved since Digimon”?

Truth was, Soobin had cleaned his apartment like he was preparing for a government inspection.

Not just a “wipe down the counters and hide your socks” kind of clean—no, this was a full-blown crisis intervention. He vacuumed. He rearranged the manga shelf three times. He googled “how to look effortlessly cool but emotionally available through interior design.” He wiped down the inside of the microwave. The inside. Who even notices that?

He had picked out three shirts. Tried all of them on. Hated all of them. Went back to the first one – the Gojo one. Changed again. Now he was in a soft grey hoodie because “low-stakes and huggable” felt like the safest vibe.

And still, as he paced his too-small living room—hands tangled in his hair, heart clawing its way up his throat—Soobin was certain of one thing: He was going to die. Or combust. Or dissolve into the floor. Or something equally dramatic and deserved.

Then his phone buzzed, and for a split second, he was genuinely convinced it was the end. A stroke. A heart attack. Divine punishment.

Y/N: omw :)

Oh god. She used a smiley face.

Not an emoji. A colon-parenthesis smiley. The old-school, no-frills kind. The kind that meant warmth. Familiarity. The kind that made Soobin feel like maybe she wasn't coming over to say "hey, about that kiss, let's never speak of it again, it was the worst kiss of my life."

Maybe.

He stood up so fast he got dizzy. Checked the mirror. Immediately regretted it. His hair looked like he’d tried to style it in a wind tunnel. His hoodie was riding weird on his shoulder. He looked exactly like he felt: insane.

The buzzer rang.

Oh my god. It’s her. Okay, this is happening, this is life.

Soobin walked to the door like a prisoner walking to the gallows, heart on his throat and sweat running down his spine.

He opened it.

And there she was.

Backlit by the low golden sunset, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, her lips pulled into a soft smile that made his brain completely short-circuit.

Soobin stopped functioning.

Like, genuinely. His entire body just—froze. It was like he was seeing her for the first time all over again. As if seeing her like this had triggered some biological override. As if his nervous system had taken one look at her and whispered, Nope. We’re out.

She was right there. Real. Warm. Wearing the kind of expression that lived in the spaces between his daydreams, the kind that looked too soft, too fond, too much for his heart to take.

And she was smiling at him.

God. That smile.

It wasn’t big or dramatic. It was quiet, just a curve of her mouth and a slight crinkle near her eyes, but it hit him. Like some hidden part of him—some vulnerable, unspeakable center—had been waiting for exactly this moment without realizing it. And now that it was here, now that she was here, he couldn’t breathe.

His heart was thudding hard. Loud. As if trying to escape his chest and throw itself at her feet.

Because she looked like something out of a dream he’d never have the nerve to describe out loud. The way her hair caught the last light of day. The way it moved ever so slightly in the breeze. The worn tote bag hanging from her shoulder, the edge of a book peeking out like an accidental detail from an indie movie. Her shoelaces a little uneven. A necklace he’d never seen before. Her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater.

Every detail was devastating.

Because it was her.

Because she'd kissed him.

And now she was standing in front of his apartment door like it was nothing. Like this was casual. Like his world hadn’t been tilted off its axis since the last time he saw her.

And for a second—a full, long, crushing second—Soobin wasn’t standing in a doorway.

He was standing on that porch again, her face just inches from his. Her hands in his hoodie. Her breath brushing his cheek. The kiss, soft and surprising and all-consuming, like a secret he didn’t know he’d been keeping.

He’d replayed it in his head every night since.

Except “replayed” didn’t even cover it. He’d relived it. Obsessively. The angle of her chin. The way her hand lingered near his jaw. The moment her lips met his and the rest of the world just faded out.

It had wrecked him.

It had remade him.

And now she was standing here in golden light, eyes lit up with that mischievous glint, and Soobin had never felt more like a character in the wrong genre of movie. The best he could hope for was to not pass out before offering her water.

His throat was dry. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. His palms were clammy. His knees felt like they might betray him at any moment.

She said, “Hi.”

And he thought, I would memorize every version of your voice just to keep this one forever.

He said, “Hey.”

And wanted to punch himself immediately.

But she just smiled wider. Tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. And he nearly had to lean against the doorframe to stay upright, because how was this his life?

She was really here.

And she had no idea. No idea how hard it was not to tell her everything. Not to say, I haven’t slept because I keep imagining your mouth on mine. Not to blurt out, I’ve been thinking about you every second of every day and I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Not to confess, you ruined me a little. And I liked it.

Instead, he swallowed hard. Shifted his weight.

Let her in.

Prayed to every god that had ever existed that he wouldn’t do something monumentally stupid.

Because the girl who kissed him under a starry sky was now walking into his apartment, and Soobin had never been more aware of his own heart than he was in that golden hour light.

“Hope I’m not too early,” she added, stepping inside. “I brought candy. And emotional baggage.”

Soobin let out a nervous breath. “I’ve got a whole closet for that.”

Y/N laughed—soft and easy—and kicked off her shoes. “Oh thank god. I was worried you were going to pretend to be emotionally healthy tonight.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, following her into the living room. “I’m very committed to my internal chaos.”

They sat on the couch—on opposite ends, naturally. A respectable, excruciating distance. There were exactly twenty-four inches between them. Soobin knew because he’d measured it earlier, just in case she sat next to him and he had to pretend he wasn’t hyper aware of how close they were.

And now here she was, cross-legged, tossing a gummy worm into her mouth like she wasn’t the sole reason Soobin’s entire nervous system was in flames.

She looked around his apartment. “You rearranged your manga shelf.”

Soobin blinked. “W-what?”

She smirked. “In that picture you sent me yesterday, Bleach was next to One Piece. Now it’s on the bottom.”

Holy shit. She noticed?

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought I’d switch it up.”

“You panicked.”

“I definitely panicked.”

She smiled, and something in his chest ached.

Y/N looked perfectly at ease, legs tucked under her on the couch, her face lit up with quiet excitement like this—being here, in his space—was the most natural thing in the world. She glanced around the room like it was familiar, like it didn��t even cross her mind that this was a big deal.

Meanwhile, Soobin was coming undone at the seams.

His brain couldn’t keep up with reality. She was on his couch. In his apartment. Eating the gummies she bought for him. Smiling at him like this wasn’t the single most terrifying and thrilling moment of his life. A silent, internal scream echoed through him as he tried to act normal—like his heart wasn’t trying to launch itself into orbit.

It hit him like a rogue wave: sudden, cold, and disorienting.

What was she doing here? How had this happened? Did she know what she was doing to him?

He blinked once. Twice. She was still there.

“Movie?” she asked, scrolling through the options on the screen like she didn’t just shatter his entire nervous system.

He nodded—too fast, too eager—and managed to form a word. “Yeah.”

They settled on Dune without much debate. It was an easy choice, safe and cinematic. A little pretentious in theory, but somehow a comfort movie to both of them. Neither of them mentioned they’d already seen it. Maybe because it didn’t matter. Maybe because this wasn’t about the movie at all.

Soobin knew every line, every cut of the camera. He couldn’t recall a single frame.

“So,” she said, popping another gummy into her mouth, eyes diverging from the screen, “tell me something dumb you believed as a kid.”

Soobin blinked. “Like… I used to think if I drank soda and chewed gum at the same time, my stomach would explode?”

She gasped. “Same! I was terrified. One time my brother gave me Coke while I had a mint in my mouth and I almost cried.”

He grinned. “A shared trauma.”

“What else?” she nudged his sock-covered foot with hers. “C’mon. Let me into the mind of young Soobin.”

“Oh no. That’s dangerous.”

“Do it.”

He sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. I used to believe that if I didn’t say goodnight to my stuffed animals in order, they’d fight each other while I slept.”

Y/N nearly choked. “What kind of Toy Story warzone were you sleeping in?”

“They were competitive! Especially the penguin and the dragon.”

“It doesn't seem like a fair fight to me.”

Soobin laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that felt real—the kind that cracked through the nervous haze and made room for something softer. Something that said: she’s here. She’s here and she’s laughing and this is okay.

“What about you?” he asked. “What dumb kid belief did you cling to?”

She smirked. “Okay, this is embarrassing. But… I thought actors lived inside the TV.”

Soobin blinked. “Like, just waiting?”

“Yeah. Like they had little apartments in there. And they’d come out when it was their turn. I once whispered to the TV during Lizzie McGuire to let Gordo know I thought he was cute.”

Soobin snorted. “Wow. Poor Gordo never knew.”

“I had to move on.”

They laughed again, the kind of shared laughter that slowly eased the weight in the room. They kept talking, forgetting about the movie, —about their friends, their childhoods, Soobin’s unfortunate incident with a Slip ‘N Slide and a pinecone (“I don’t wanna talk about it”) and Y/N’s brief, cursed phase as a magician’s assistant at a third-grade birthday party –which Soobin told her that Taehyun would love.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation—right after Y/N finished explaining how Jungwon once accidentally texted her “I love you” instead of “on my way”—the distance on the couch changed.

Soobin didn’t know how it happened. It just… shifted. Slowly. Like gravity was in on something he wasn’t.

Their knees touched.

Just a light brush. The smallest point of contact. But it hit him like a shockwave, like someone had flicked on a switch in the dark corner of his chest that hadn’t seen daylight in years.

And she didn’t move.

She didn’t apologize or shift away or act like it was anything at all. She just kept talking. Calm. Unbothered. Like she wasn’t currently rewriting the molecular structure of his body just by being there.

Soobin’s breath caught in his throat.

His heart—already a mess from her smile, her laugh, her whole being here—now decided to go into full DEFCON 1. Blood roared in his ears. His lungs felt too shallow. He tried to focus on what she was saying—something about Jake’s tragic karaoke renditions of emo songs—but all he could think about was how close she was. How real. How soft her voice sounded from here. How her knee was still touching his.

And then—then—she leaned a little closer.

And that was it. That was the moment he actually, truly, almost lost it.

Because she was here, right here, and she was so effortlessly herself. And he was Soobin—sitting so still it felt like his bones were buzzing. Trying not to explode. Trying not to mess this up.

He didn’t know how to sit anymore. His back was stiff, like if he moved the wrong way the moment would shatter. His hand was resting awkwardly against his thigh, fingers twitching like they were aching to reach for her, to trace the lines of her hand, to prove this was real.

Because it didn’t feel real.

Not after the past three days.

Not after the way he’d gone to bed that night and just stared at the ceiling in stunned silence, hand over his chest, replaying the kiss like it was on a loop in his brain. Not after he’d walked home from the porch half-dazed, like someone who had just stepped out of a dream and wasn’t sure which reality was the real one.

He hadn’t slept that night. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face lit by the porch light—her expression right before she kissed him. Like she wasn’t afraid. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And Soobin?

Soobin had been wrecked ever since.

He’d woken up the next morning thinking it might’ve been a hallucination. His brain had immediately gone into overdrive: Did I imagine it? Was it an accident? Did I dream the entire thing? What if she regrets it? What if she thinks it meant nothing and I’m just sitting here making friendship bracelets out of feelings she doesn’t even know I have?

And now she was next to him.

Real. Here. Knees touching his.

Leaning closer like it was nothing.

He could smell her shampoo—something citrusy and warm, bright and sharp like the rest of her. He could feel the way the air between them tightened, thickened, like the universe itself was holding its breath.

Soobin wanted to scream. Or sob. Or kiss her again. Or all three in rapid succession.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see her profile.

She was now focused on the movie playing on the screen. At least, she was pretending to be. Her lashes flicked downward, slow and deliberate. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. And the corner of her mouth twitched—like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

She was close enough that if he turned his head just a little more, he’d be able to see her eyes. Close enough that if she looked back, they’d meet in that space where no words were needed and everything would suddenly be too much.

And Soobin...

Soobin had never wanted anything more than he wanted to know what would happen if she looked at him right now.

Because this was worse than a crush.

It was gravity.

It was weeks of lingering glances and half-smiles and oh-god-does-she-know.

It was his fingers twitching with restraint.

It was the ghost of her lips still etched on his.

It was how good she had felt kissing him. The warmth. The softness. The way she had cupped his face like she’d been thinking about it just as long as he had.

He remembered that moment like a favorite line in a book he wasn’t allowed to reread. And now, here she was, turning pages again, breathing the same air, and not pulling away.

And it hurt. In the most ridiculous, hopeful, beautiful way.

Because maybe she remembered it too.

Because maybe she wanted to kiss him again just as badly.

Because maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t one-sided after all.

And so, Soobin sat there, heart thundering, body frozen, wishing he had the courage to close that last inch of space.

Wishing he knew for sure.

Wishing he could tell her that the kiss hadn’t ruined him.

It had remade him.

And now he didn’t know how to exist without her this close.

“Soobin,” she whispered suddenly, her voice soft but enough to make his heart lurch.

He turned, trying not to look too startled. “Yeah?”

She leaned her head back against the couch, eyes still on the screen. “What would your dragon stuffed animal think about us sitting this close?”

He blinked. Then laughed, nervous and breathless. “He’d be jealous, probably.”

“Oh?”

“He was very possessive.”

“Over you?”

He looked at her then. Really looked. And for once, she was already looking back.

A beat passed. Then another. And her smile shifted—gentler, softer. “I don’t blame him.”

Soobin swore the air in his lungs turned to static. “That’s, um. Bold of you to say.”

“I’m a bold person.” She popped another gummy into her mouth, her tone far too casual for the way his chest was currently caving in on itself. “You just never noticed before.”

He wanted to say, I notice everything about you. The way she chews her bottom lip when she’s thinking. The way her laugh always comes half a second after she covers her mouth like she’s still trying to hide it. The way she never finishes her coffee but always insists on making a fresh cup. The way she kissed him and ruined every song that used to mean nothing.

But his brain wasn’t functioning. Not with her sitting this close. Not with her warmth brushing against his side like she belonged there. So instead, he swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and said, “Not true. I’ve always noticed you.”

She turned to him again, eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile. “Yeah?”

Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were hopeful. Curious. Like she wanted him to keep going.

So he did.

“I mean… freshman year?” Soobin shook his head with a soft, breathless laugh. “You used to walk across campus with your headphones in and that laser-focused expression, like you had a secret mission to complete.”

“I did,” she said, smirking. “It was called: avoid human interaction at all costs.”

He grinned, but there was something quieter in the way he looked at her now. Something almost reverent. “You were kind of intimidating, honestly. Not in a bad way. Just… you always seemed so far away. Like you were in a different world. Like…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like someone like me wouldn’t ever be in yours.”

She tilted her head. “Soobin…”

“Y/N, really, how could I not notice you?” he said, eyes meeting hers now, voice a little steadier. “Even when I tried not to. You were just—there. Always. In your own orbit. And I’d see you in the library or walking past the café and I’d feel like I was watching a movie I wasn’t in. Like I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. Just… admire from a distance.”

Her breath caught, and the playful spark between them simmered into something softer.

“And last semester,” he continued, barely above a whisper, “when we had that one class together? I used to wait an extra minute before leaving so I’d run into you by the doors. I timed it. Almost every week. Even though I never said a word.”

She blinked, her voice just as quiet now. “You noticed me like that?”

He smiled, a little shy, a little proud. “I always noticed you like that. And now,” he added, voice quiet, “now it’s like—I walk into a room and I look for you without even realizing it.”

There it was.

The truth, not just in his words but in the way he said them—gentle and careful, like he was offering her something fragile.

Y/N stared at him, blinking slowly, like maybe her brain was catching up too.

“I didn’t know,” she said after a moment. “I thought I was the only one who… noticed.”

“You weren’t,” he said, almost in a whisper. “You never were.”

Silence stretched between them, golden and warm. The movie played in the background, forgotten.

“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “hypothetically speaking… if someone were to want to kiss you again—like, let’s say they did it once, and it was sort of unexpected but really good—would that person be totally out of line if they… wanted to do it again?”

Soobin’s brain blue-screened. Rebooted.

“I—uh. I mean. Hypothetically?”

She nodded, pretending to study the credits now rolling across the screen. “Mhm. Totally hypothetical.”

“I think… that person would be very, very in line.” He smiled, shy but sure. “In fact, they might even be doing the universe a favor.”

Y/N turned back to him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “Because I’ve been dying to kiss you again.”

Soobin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, all tension and disbelief. “Then you should.”

She tilted her head, playfully skeptical. “Just like that?”

She didn’t say anything right away.

He nodded. “Just like that.”

Just looked at him, really looked — the way someone might look at a constellation for the first time, like connecting the stars finally revealed the shape of something they’d been trying to understand all along.

Soobin felt suspended in that gaze, like the world had narrowed to this one fragile thread between them.

And then—

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?” he echoed, blinking.

It took him a second to believe it.

And another to move.

But then he was leaning in, just a little — so slowly it almost hurt — like he was afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast. His eyes flicked to her lips and back up again, searching for any sign that this wasn’t real. That maybe he was dreaming on his too-small couch and any second now his phone would buzz and shatter everything.

But she was still there.

Closer now.

And when her eyes fluttered shut, he closed the space between them.

The kiss was careful at first. Soft. Like the moment you dip into warm water — tentative, unsure, until it wraps around you and makes you forget you were ever cold. Her hand found the side of his neck, featherlight, and he melted under the touch. His fingers barely brushed her jaw, scared to startle her, but needing to hold on to something, anything.

She tilted her head just enough and deepened the kiss, and that was it — Soobin forgot his own name. Forgot where they were. Forgot how to breathe.

She tasted like the strawberry gummies she’d been eating earlier, sweet and a little tart, and Soobin knew—knew in the deepest, most irreversible way—that he would never eat one again without remembering this. The soft press of her lips. The warm weight of her hand on his chest. The way everything else had gone quiet.

And then her fingers moved.

Slowly, deliberately, from his collarbone to the curve of his shoulder, tracing the fabric of his shirt like she wanted to memorize it. It was barely a touch, really—just fingertips. But to Soobin, it might as well have been a lightning strike. His breath hitched, and suddenly every nerve ending he’d ever had was tuned only to her.

She shifted closer, knees bumping his, and the couch dipped slightly beneath her weight. Her palm splayed gently across his chest now, grounding him, and he realized with a dizzy sort of awe that she could probably feel his heart trying to punch its way out of his ribcage.

Still, she didn’t pull away.

Soobin’s hand moved almost without thinking. He touched her waist first, tentative, unsure, but she didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned in, her hand sliding up the back of his neck and curling into his hair. That single, confident tug—barely even pressure—made him exhale, made him melt.

Every new point of contact felt like a secret shared. Her thumb brushing the hinge of his jaw. His fingers trailing along her side until they rested at the dip of her spine. Her knees tucked closer to his thighs now, her body warm and real and so incredibly close.

Soobin pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded but watching him with something soft and certain.

“You’re really here,” he whispered, like the words might help him believe it.

She smiled, fingers still in his hair. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer. He just leaned in again—this time with a little more urgency. Like he couldn’t bear the space between them. Their mouths met again, and this kiss was messier. Fuller. Her hand slid down from his hair to his cheek, then lower, tracing the line of his throat, and he shivered at the contact. He held her tighter now, one arm wrapped fully around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

And maybe she was.

Every move felt sacred. Like permission. Like a promise.

The kiss deepened slowly, a lazy build of heat and gravity, like neither of them wanted to rush what was happening but couldn’t stop leaning closer, falling harder. Soobin’s thumb brushed over her waist, back and forth, anchoring himself to the soft curve of her. Her fingers were tangled in his hair again, guiding him, holding him there like she couldn’t get enough either.

And then—A sound.

Barely audible. Just the faintest, breathy moan against his mouth. Soft and helpless, like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

It shattered him.

Soobin stilled for half a second, heart thudding wildly in his chest. Every thought, every carefully constructed dam of restraint he'd built in the last five minutes cracked at once. His pulse roared in his ears. That one sound had lit a fire low in his stomach, something raw and wanting and entirely new. It was the sweetest thing he's ever heard.

His hand tightened at her waist. The other cradled the back of her neck, tilting her head just slightly to kiss her deeper, fuller, like he was starving and she was the only thing that could keep him breathing.

She didn’t pull away.

If anything, she clung to him, fingers curling tighter in his shirt, nails grazing the back of his neck. Her lips parted willingly beneath his, that same quiet sound escaping again—and he swore he felt it vibrate straight through his bones.

He made a sound then too, low and nearly a groan, something desperate and reverent all at once. He pulled her impossibly closer, their chests pressed together now, her legs shifting to hook around his, as if she couldn’t stand another inch of distance either.

“God,” he whispered against her lips, voice wrecked and shaking, “you’re gonna kill me.”

She smiled, flushed and a little dazed. “Not unless you kill me first.”

And then she kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

And Soobin, hopeless and breathless and completely gone for her, let himself fall—hands everywhere, heart wide open, tasting strawberry and summer and everything he’d ever wanted in a single moment that felt like it might never end.

After five or maybe five hundred kisses, they were still tangled up on the couch, sunk into the cushions like gravity had given up on them. Her legs were draped over his, one of her hands absentmindedly playing with the drawstring of his hoodie, and Soobin was pretty sure this was the happiest he’d ever been while doing absolutely nothing.

But also—he was dangerously close to combusting.

His brain was short-circuiting from the way she kept looking at him, from the way she was still holding onto him like she didn’t want to move. Like maybe she liked being here just as much as he did.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly beneath her.

“So,” he started, trying to sound casual and immediately failing. “Um. I know the couch is… like, peak couch. Very comfortable. Lots of personality. But… uh. Do you… maybe wanna see my room?”

Y/N blinked at him, eyebrows lifting. “Your room?”

He panicked. “Wait. That sounded like a line. I didn’t mean it like that. Not—not in the ‘hey baby, wanna see my room’ kind of way.”

She grinned. “So not in a ‘Netflix and chill’ kind of way?”

“I mean… Netflix is already playing,” he said, eyes wide, heart pounding. “And there’s no chill. I’m literally sweating.”

She burst out laughing, collapsing a little more into him, her forehead landing lightly on his shoulder.

“I just—” he tried again, helpless. “You’ve never been in there, and I—I thought you might want to see my shelves?”

Y/N tilted her head up at him, biting her lip to hold back her smile. “Your shelves.”

He nodded solemnly. “Very elite shelving. Tastefully curated. Zero dust. An emotionally significant penguin figurine.”

“You had me at emotionally significant penguin.”

He grinned, then stood up, offering her his hand in that awkwardly formal way of someone both pretending not to be nervous and simultaneously vibrating with nerves.

She took it easily, lacing her fingers through his.

“Lead the way, Mr. Curated Shelves.”

As he guided her down the hall, Soobin could feel his pulse in his ears. He almost tripped over his own slippers, bumped into the wall once, and still managed to keep talking, because silence would be worse.

“I cleaned it recently, by the way,” he babbled. “Not just because you’re here, but like, maybe a little because you’re here. But also because I spilled ramen on the rug. That’s unrelated.”

“So this is a room of mystery, drama, and noodles.”

“I contain multitudes,” he said, eyes wide. “Please keep expectations low. There are Funko Pops.”

She squeezed his hand. “Soobin. I’m excited.”

That made his heart do a strange flip.

He opened the door and stepped back dramatically. “Behold. My domain.”

Her eyes immediately scanned the room, and her entire face lit up. “Oh my god, it’s so you.”

There were books, game controllers, a surprisingly well-made bed, and a color-coded manga shelf. And on top of it all sat a small, slightly lopsided pirate penguin.

She gasped. “Is that Captain Waddles?!”

Soobin groaned. “I can’t believe I didn’t hide him.”

“You better not have. He’s perfect. Does he still fight dragons?”

“He’s retired. Writes memoirs now. Very private.”

She giggled and walked further in, taking it all in like she was in a museum. And all Soobin could do was watch her.

Because she was here. In his room. Holding his penguin. Smiling like she meant it.

And Soobin couldn’t remember a single time he’d been this happy to share a part of himself.

He’d always kept this space kind of sacred, honestly. Not in a “no girls allowed” kind of way–because it's not like any girl would've wanted to go there–, but more like… this was the one place where he could be entirely himself. No social filter, no worries about fitting in or looking cool. Just him, his comics, his odd collection of trinkets, and the quiet.

So the fact that she was standing here—in her little hoodie and mismatched socks, looking around with open curiosity and warmth instead of judgment—felt like someone had cracked open a window in his chest and let the light in.

“Your bed’s made,” she said, mock-suspicious.

He flushed immediately. “Okay, yeah. That was for you.”

“Busted.”

“I panicked!” he cried, flailing slightly. “I’ve never had anyone in here before! Especially not someone I’m—uh, I mean—”

She looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “Someone you’re…?”

“Fond of,” he finished weakly, like that was the word his brain landed on in sheer desperation.

“‘Fond of,’” she repeated, walking over to him slowly. “That’s such a Soobin word.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re ridiculously cute and kind of tragic.”

“I—wait, tragic?”

“In a very charming way,” she added quickly, eyes dancing.

Before he could defend himself (he was working on something involving honor and slander), she sat on the edge of his bed and patted the spot beside her.

He went, obviously.

And when their shoulders touched, the silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward at all. It was full of electricity. Of things not said. Of all the tension that had been slowly building like steam in a kettle.

Y/N reached over and picked up a small, laminated Pokémon card from his nightstand.

“Is this... holographic?” she asked, holding it up to the light. “Oh my god, is this a first edition Charizard?”

Soobin lit up. “Yes! Yes, it is. I kept it in a binder for years. I traded like three Digletts and a shiny Eevee for it in eighth grade. Honestly, daylight robbery.”

She looked at him like he’d just handed her a national treasure. “I love that you still have this.”

“I love that you don’t think I’m a total loser for it.”

She smiled, softer now. “How could I? This is… you. All of this is you. And I really like you, Soobin.”

That was it.

The sentence that rearranged everything inside him.

He turned to face her fully. His hand brushed her knee—lightly at first, but when she didn’t pull away, he left it there, grounding himself.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly, voice a little hoarse. “You like me?”

She leaned in just enough for him to feel her breath on his cheek. “Yeah. A lot, I thought I've said this already.”

He didn’t know what to do with that except feel it. All of it. The butterflies, the warmth, the urge to throw himself out the window in a happy spiral. But also—he couldn’t let the moment go without being Soobin about it.

“So like, on a scale from ‘appreciates my book organization’ to ‘would still talk to me if I told you I cried during Spirited Away’…”

She grinned. “You cried during Spirited Away?”

“That scene with Chihiro’s parents! They’re pigs! It’s devastating!”

She was laughing again, tipping into him, and this time when their noses bumped, neither of them moved back.

“Okay,” she whispered, her fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie. “So what’s next, Mr. Curated Shelves?”

He looked at her mouth. At her eyes. At the girl sitting on his bed, who somehow made him feel less alone just by existing.

“I think I kiss you,” he whispered.

And she smiled like she’d been waiting for that.

Just as Soobin was about to lean in—heart thudding, eyes locked on her smile, hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek—the front door slammed open.

“GUYS. SOUND THE ALARMS. SOUND THE ACTUAL, LITERAL ALARMS.”

A beat of silence.

Then—thunder. Pounding paws, frantic snuffling, and then—“WHAT THE—” Soobin yelped as a blur of fur and chaos charged into his room at the speed of light and body-slammed them both on the bed.

Y/N shrieked. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

“I FOUND A DOG,” Beomgyu announced, bursting dramatically into the room, panting like he’d just run a marathon. He was holding a lightsaber in one hand and a half-drunk can of Monster in the other. “HER NAME IS RONNIE. SHE IS MY DESTINY.”

“WHAT?!” Soobin was being smothered by floppy ears and enthusiastic dog kisses. “WHY IS SHE ON MY BED?!”

“She chose it,” Beomgyu said solemnly. “She chose you. She is imprinting. Like in Twilight.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N wheezed, trying to sit up as Ronnie, tail wagging wildly, climbed over Soobin’s chest to lick her face.

“She’s licking me!” Soobin cried, flailing helplessly. “She just stepped on my neck!”

“She’s asserting dominance,” Beomgyu nodded wisely. “You must accept her leadership now. You are part of the pack.”

“I was about to kiss Y/N!” Soobin shouted, still being steamrolled by a very excited Ronnie.

Beomgyu gasped. “Oh my god. Did she ruin the moment? That’s so Ronnie-coded.”

“She full-on flew into the room like a missile,” Y/N laughed, petting Ronnie’s head. “How did she even get in?”

“I gave her a dramatic speech about how sometimes in life, we find what we weren’t looking for. Then she followed me home. I think we’re soulmates.”

“She’s a dog,” Soobin muttered, now sitting up with his hair sticking in eight different directions.

“She’s a vision,” Beomgyu corrected, absolutely starry-eyed. “Also, she chewed through my phone charger, so now I think we’re trauma bonded.”

Ronnie barked once, loudly, like you’re welcome for the vibe check.

“She’s kind of cute,” Y/N said, giggling as Ronnie shoved her snout under her arm and curled up next to her.

Soobin looked at them both—Y/N, smiling and relaxed, Ronnie snoring now like she owned the place—and sighed dramatically. “Great. Replaced. By a dog.”

“Oh come on,” Y/N grinned, nudging his knee. “You’re still in the top two.”

Beomgyu flopped onto the edge of the bed, somehow holding a bag of chips he hadn’t had five seconds ago. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been. The gang’s all here. I’m starting a group chat called Ronnie’s Guardians. Soobin, you’re emotional support. Y/N, you're her style inspiration.”

“I am none of those things—” Soobin began.

“Shhh. Let it happen.”

Ronnie let out a contented sigh, tail still thumping lazily against the comforter, as if to say this is my bed now.

And even though the moment had been completely derailed, Soobin couldn’t help but smile.

Because Y/N was still next to him. Laughing. Petting a dog neither of them knew existed ten minutes ago. Looking at him like maybe, just maybe, that kiss would still happen later—

Even if they'd have to work around Beomgyu and his emotional support goblin dog to make it happen.

And Soobin? He had never been happier.

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profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: HI I'M BACK! i know it was overdue, but here i am with yet another cute CUTE c u t e chapter hehe. I got my dog bc she followed me home and jumped on my bed just like ronnie did to beomgyu so i guess i got inspired by that! also, y/n is the coolest i cant!!! i hope you guys enjoy it, what do you all think?? a little spoiler: the gangs are going on a trip hehe

ALSO adult life is no joke, i'll tell you that! i've been so busy and tired that when i get home i just fall sleep! i'm so upset i can't update as often as i'd like to, i'm really sorry guys thank you for understanding! i'm trying my best bc it brings me so much joy, and i can tell makes you guys happy too!! i'll reply to everyone now hehe anywaysss thank you so much as always <3

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn @lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver@lveegsoi@pagesoobinie @catpjimin @t-102 @sh0dor1 @i-am-not-dal @bbeomgyucafe @damn-u-min-yoongi @https-yeonjun

[naxalbari1967]

Israel Is the Empire’s Last Fortress in the Arab World

Western powers did not fall in love with Israel because they cared about Jews, democracy, or shared values. They loved Israel because it served a purpose. From the moment of its creation, Israel offered imperialism exactly what it needed in the Middle East: a loyal outpost armed to the teeth, hostile to anti-colonial movements, plugged into global finance, and willing to do the dirty work the West did not want to be seen doing. Israel is not just a country. It is a geopolitical project. A colonial watchdog. A forward operating base. A Western aligned ethnostate sitting on top of oil routes, radical movements, and strategic chokepoints. Its job was always to break the back of Arab unity, sabotage Third World socialism, and keep the region too fragmented, too unstable, and too intimidated to ever challenge Western extraction or corporate dominance. That is why the West loves Israel. Not because it is good. Because it is useful.

From the start, Israel was a settler colonial mirror of Europe itself. It was founded not just by survivors of genocide but by ideological Zionists who believed in colonizing land with armed pioneers, displacing natives, and building a new society through force. That is the same template the British used in Kenya and Rhodesia. The same one the French used in Algeria. And Israel knew it. The first Zionist settlers studied British colonial manuals. They mimicked the language of bringing civilization to the desert, even though the land was already alive with people and history. That framework made Israel instantly legible to Western colonial elites. It looked familiar. It sounded right. It followed their logic. It was not a challenge to empire. It was the continuation of it under new branding.

When the British left Palestine, they did not destroy colonial infrastructure. They handed it over. Israel took the legal frameworks, land seizure laws, and counterinsurgency methods the British had used to crush Arab revolt in the 1930s and used them again, this time as an independent state. The Nakba was not just a spontaneous war. It was a carefully orchestrated campaign of expulsion, ethnic cleansing, and military dominance, justified through the same civilized versus savage dichotomy that Europe had been using for centuries. And when the dust settled, the Western powers recognized Israel immediately. They gave it arms, loans, and diplomatic cover. Not because they believed in Jewish safety but because they saw a strategic ally in the heart of Arab land.

The timing was not a coincidence. After World War II, the Middle East was boiling over with anti-colonial revolutions. Egypt under Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal. Iraq overthrew the British backed monarchy. Syria was wobbling between military coups and Baathist socialism. Palestine was a powder keg. Oil had turned the region from a colonial backwater into a centerpiece of global power, and Western powers had to choose. Either lose control to Arab nationalism, or insert a proxy that could tip the scales. Israel was that proxy. A garrison state armed for war. A place where white Europeans could settle, militarize, and serve as a permanent threat to any Arab regime that stepped out of line.

This is why the United States, Britain, and France did not just support Israel. They armed it. Funded it. Protected it. In 1956, Britain and France literally teamed up with Israel to attack Egypt after Nasser nationalized the canal. That war exposed the declining imperial reach of the old European powers, but it also made something else clear. Israel was not just defending itself. It was an extension of colonial power. That pattern never changed. In 1967, Israel’s preemptive strike destroyed Egypt, Jordan, and Syria’s air forces on the ground. It seized huge swaths of territory. And the West cheered it on. The United States started pumping in more aid. NATO allies opened the floodgates of weapons transfers. Israel became a cornerstone of Western military architecture in the Middle East. Just like Turkey to the north and Saudi Arabia to the east. All dictatorships. All repressive. All serving Western interests.

But Israel was not just a military asset. It became a tool of psychological warfare. Western media portrayed it as a democracy under siege surrounded by irrational, violent Arabs. That framing did two things. It erased Palestinian suffering. And it gave the West moral cover for propping up apartheid, occupation, and war crimes. The Israeli soldier became the poster child for Western civilization defending itself against the chaos of the Third World. It was imperial porn. A way for the United States and Europe to indulge their fantasies of toughness and innocence without getting their hands dirty. Every Israeli bombing raid, every checkpoint, every assassination was repackaged as self defense. As if Israel were just a small house with a big gun trying to survive in a bad neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Israel exported counterinsurgency tools around the globe. It trained Latin American death squads, helped South Africa during apartheid, sold surveillance tech to dictatorships, and advised on torture methods used in United States black sites. Mossad became a brand. Israeli weapons companies made billions selling battle tested gear. Tested, of course, on occupied Palestinians. For Western powers, this was perfect. They got to support a technologically advanced ally that could fight their enemies, experiment on colonial subjects, and sell the results back to the empire. That is not an alliance. That is subcontracted colonialism.

And let us be clear. The West never loved Israel out of guilt for the Holocaust. The same countries that claim to stand with Israel today were the ones that closed their borders to Jewish refugees in the 1930s. The United States turned away ships full of Holocaust survivors. Britain locked Jews in camps in Cyprus. After the war, Europe’s goal was not to protect Jews. It was to get rid of them. Zionism gave them an excuse. Let them go to Palestine. Let them fight Arabs instead of asking for reparations. Let them build a nationalist state far from Europe’s shattered conscience. That was not solidarity. It was strategic displacement. And when Israel started pulling its weight militarily, the West rewarded it. Not because it was moral. But because it was effective.

Israel’s role today has not changed. It is still the front line of empire. It still receives more United States military aid than any country on Earth. It still gets cover at the United Nations while it bombs refugee camps. It still licenses its security tech to every fascist regime that can afford it. It still fragments the Arab world, sucks up resources, and destabilizes any movement for regional independence. And every time the United States needs a war tested, a drone system trialed, or a resistance movement crushed, Israel is ready to perform.

The Western love for Israel is not about shared democracy, religion, or history. It is about control. It is about empire. It is about having a nuclear armed, heavily surveilled, militarized enclave sitting on top of Arab oil and resistance. Doing what Western powers used to do directly. Now outsourced to a nation that built itself in their image. Israel wins wars because it was designed to win them. And the West cheers it on because it built Israel to do exactly that.

[whereserpentswalk]

You grew up on a planet that's entirely toxic to humans. Since it's the right temperature it's where humans on your planet settled, and anything more habitable is light years away, so you learned to make due. Everyone wears gas masks and full body suits everywhere they go outside, and it's just how it is.

Your parents, who were part of the first wave of colonization, view the atmospheric precautions differently then how you do. They try to take off their masks whenever it's safe to, don't wear clothing over their suits, and care about how they look when their masks are off. They still think of themselves as people who don't wear protective gear, who have to wear it right now.

For you it's different. You've never been outside without your gear, never seen the sky without a lense over your eyes, never talked to someone outside your family without having both your faces covered. The idea that people's faces could be part of their identity is odd, even perverted to you. Since you're so used to having your gear on you wear it indoors even when you don't need to because it's what's yourse. You only really have it off when you're eating, sleeping, showering, or using the bathroom, your most base and animal like momments. You almost see your face as something vulgar, when you look in the mirror without your mask it's not you that looks back but just a fleshy, kind of gross, body part.

It's a problem when talking to older generations a lot of the time. You don't see your body the same way as them. They want to know what you look like under the mask. Or they don't understand why you care so much about how your gear works, or wearing clothes and jewelry over it. Your peers understand more, you haven't seen any of their faces and you wouldn't want to, you recognize them by the type of gear they wear, and how they customize and decorate it. The gap is getting even wider with fewer and fewer buildings being built to be sealed from the outside world.

When you lost your virginity you had your mask on, and so did your datemate. It would be weird to see eachothers faces in the momment, those vulgar organs with their alien organic flaps.

Speaking of aliens that's another separation. Your parents still think of animals in terms of those that evolved alongside humans, while you feel close to the native life. When you think of nature you think of the orange sky and silver swamps, and the six legged creatures that lurk within and who fly above the firey clouds. The only mammals you've ever seen are humans, and you rarely even see them with their mammalian parts exposed.

There's also relationships with the native alien sapients of course. According to imperial law, you can't advocate for the sovereignty of alien populations (nor the claims of rival human empires for that matter) but your generation is a lot closer to the aliens you've conquered then your parent's generation is. Your parents expected them to be wiped out by the time you were born but they just sort of weren't. Your generation tends to know a lot more about their culture, know a bit of their language, in the cities it's not even uncommon for aliens and humans to be neighbors. There's even whispers of labor movements considering the alien struggle agaisnt human empires and the workers' struggle agaisnt the high lords to be joined.

There's even people in cities who are fully forgoing their human flesh, making their suits fully part of their bodies, with no way of ever being taken off. Most of the older generation is shocked that some people your age are giving up your humanity like that, and even though you don't agree with it you understand. Mabye if you didn't have skin, and just had your gear permanently attached in its place, things would be easier, and you'd look more like yourself.

You once had a high lord visit your town, and he seemed so disgusted with you, so disgusted with the way your generation became so tied to your gear in place of earthborn flesh. The way he looked at you, it's like he saw you as more of the planet you were born on then you were of the planet of your ansestors, and he hated you for it, as if you were an alien. You're not sure his assessment was wrong though.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

i rewatched Dune Part Two recently and one of the most striking shots for me was the one of the Fremen attacking the Sardaukar on wormback, while holding the Atreides flag.

Like, we just saw the Sardaukar forming up with their numerous flag bearers, even trying to maintain their flags raised after the nuclear detonation (in a shot that mirrored the famous "Raising the Flag in Iwo Jima" statue to me btw, nice nod to imperialism).

And then the Fremen arrive, but they're not bearing their colors, their flags, not fighting in their own names, instead it's the Atreides colors. The colors of their new, imperially appointed rulers. New pawns in the warfare between Great Houses, soldiers instead of freedom fighters. Urgh. Wish i could make gifsets.

Yeah yeah yeah it's horrifying!! You are watching a national liberation movement get successfully co-opted by a superpower and it's awful!

They did such a good job making it feel creepy and foreboding when the Atreides symbols and motifs start re-appearing in the last hour or so of the movie. The second Gurney shows up he immediately re-introduces the Atreides way of looking at the world, and it's disturbing how easily Paul falls back into thinking like that, seeing the planet and its people as tools to be used in an inter-imperial power play. (It's right after Gurney tells him about the family nukes that Paul has the signet ring out for the first time since the beginning of the second act and we're like OH NO.) This is before he drinks the Water of Life; he is already starting to think like a colonial duke again some time before he declares himself one.

After the opening montage where we see the piles of bodies being burnt, we don't see the stylized Atreides hawk symbol for most of the movie. The next time it appears is on a vault of nuclear weapons, which are never treated as anything but a curse. It's so important that Stilgar and Chani are with Paul and Gurney when they open the vault so we can see their horror at these weapons and the gleeful, casual way Gurney talks about them. Chani is also seeing an aspect of Paul that she hasn't really witnessed before--Paul, the Future of House Atreides--and she does not like it.

And then of course the whole ending battle is making the point over and over again with repeated imagery that Atreides and Harkonnens are exactly the fucking same. All the imagery from the initial Harkonnen attack on Arrakeen in Part One--which at least shows the Atreides as brave in the face of overwhelming odds--gets inverted into something that's supposed to make us shudder. That scene of Gurney hacking his way through the crowd of soldiers with someone carrying the Atreides flag behind him? Nightmarish.

All of this stuff is super important to what the movie is trying to say because it is very very easy for us to buy into the Atreides' propaganda about themselves being the good guys. If we're paying attention to what Chani tells us in the literal first 3 minutes of the first movie, we already know we should be viewing them with a bit of critical distance. And while I think there is plenty in the first movie to make us side-eye their noble image (Leto saying we will bring peace to Arrakis?? fucking yikes dude), it's easy to forget that because Leto generally seems like a good dude to the people close to him, and he dies tragically so we never get to see much of what kind of colonizer he would have become. And I think it's easy to start thinking well if only Leto the more reasonable parent had lived then things wouldn't have turned out this way.

But fucking desert power?? That was Leto's idea. This is Leto's dream being realized. The plan was always to use the Fremen as pawns in the power struggle between the Great Houses. Maybe not quite in the way that Paul does cause he definitely goes off with it, but the end result is just as much a product of Atreides imperialism as it is of Bene Gesserit religious colonialism. The Atreides aren't inherently any more noble or benevolent than the Harkonnens in their intentions, they just have better PR. But the end result is exactly the same: a pile of dead bodies being set on fire.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again no problem 11/26/2024

i don't have a good anecdote this week, i have the flu. look at my cat

listening

ty @shinygoodrock for the rec! billy bragg's the marching song of the covert. i was startled by the british accent but briefly forgot the uk's been colonizing way longer than god's favorite country, the usa

so SO cheery and so catchy! samples When The Ants Go Marching In!

Here we come with our candy and our guns And our corporate muscle marches in behind us For freedom's just another word for nothing left to sell And if you want narcotics we can get you those as well

it reminds me a lot of this poster i have framed but not hung up yet, jesse purcell's "A.G.F.T.P.O.T.U.S.O.A. (A Gift From The People Of The United States Of America)" (getcher own print at the link through justseeds)

-

reading

my favorite tinned fish newsletter is back! i like this newsletter for its dry anecdotal voice, but i coincidentally have a tin of mackerel in tomato sauce in the pantry for mackintosh name reasons. seems like the best way to have it is fairly plain with some light seasonings. the author was a senior editor at vice and has been out of work for a bit since that site's collapse, so it's good to see him back doing silly free nonsense like his tinned fish newsletter

i had Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis on hold for nearly six months so it extra hurt when i didn't particularly care for it.

like, what a premise! a beautifully written blurb that got my attention! i think i got an ad for this one on instagram. either that or it was floating around on this site.

A sharp-witted, high fantasy farce featuring killer moat squid, toxic masculinity, evil wizards and a garlic festival - all at once. Perfect for fans of T. Kingfisher, K. J. Parker and Travis Baldree. It’s bad enough waking up in a half-destroyed evil wizard’s workshop with no eyebrows, no memories, and no idea how long you have before the Dread Lord Whomever shows up to murder you horribly and then turn your skull into a goblet or something. It’s a lot worse when you realize that Dread Lord Whomever is… you. Gav isn’t really sure how he ended up with a castle full of goblins, or why he has a princess locked in a cell. All he can do is play along with his own evil plan in hopes of getting his memories back before he gets himself killed. But as he realizes that nothing – from the incredibly tasteless cloak adorned with flames to the aforementioned princess – is quite what it seems, Gav must face up to all the things the Dread Lord Gavrax has done. And he’ll have to answer the hardest question of all – who does he want to be? Dread Lord Gavrax has had better weeks.

this is a debut novel based on a friendgroup's DnD campaign, and it does show a bit. maybe you have a friend who’s freshly into improv? it gets a little wrapped up in Doing Bits. at several points i did think “i could be reading terry pratchett right now instead of enduring this bit.”

the writing itself is solid on a technical level-- there's a good balance of dialogue to description, no word choices really slammed me in the face, it flowed pretty nicely and was a fast read. flounders a bit in the middle but does pick up speed, a middling-okay pacing. if this were not a debut novel and felt a little bit more done on purpose i would be interested in talking about how the frantic lunge from plot point to plot point mirrors our protag's internal sense of self.

i do not think this rises to the level of farce, or even pastiche. it is a darkly comedic but fairly straightforward fantasy. very light PG romance elements.

so much of it is concerned with perceptions/expectations/visual tropes and then the big baddie is simply a baddie with no further interrogation. like a lot A LOT of philosophical musings on the nature of evil and the expectations thereof creating self image and morality and has unionized goblins. everything else in this book is questioned. you can’t go halfway with a deconstruction or you’re just writing more of the genre you’re trying to deconstruct. there was a scene that really clicked satisfyingly in my brain with a female sorceress, where she goes basically everyone expects me to be a bitch and a whore so let's just cut to the chase and have fun being a bitch and a whore. this alternate viewpoint of misogyny making you evil does not successfully contrast with our protag's internal calibration and view of evil but damn if that isn't the experience of being a woman in stem.

the protagonist, gav, wakes up with No memories and thereby becomes Good. or at least Better. does rozakis feel that everyone is born good and your reactions to things happening to you shape your morality? there's a reveal that one of the murders amnesiac!gav is most torn up about didn't actually happen bc his staff faked it and smuggled her out. i think this seriously undercuts the moderate amount of thinking and soulsearching and figuring out how to atone for past actions he does previously. and then it doesn’t really address any of the problems it tangled with in favor of a movie ending. it did tread a bit into therapyspeak for me. fewer shades of gray than i would have liked.

this book is also extremely heterosexual for what i expect a modern comedy fantasy to be. it neatly sidesteps the gay=/= evil conundrum but it was startling to find our protagonist with not even a curious homosexual thought.

occasionally irritating, but it was funny, except when it had to unfold some plot and forgot about being funny. this was a perfectly pleasantly written debut novel but wasn’t quite what i wanted or expected. it tries a lot of things and it’s interesting to watch the rube goldberg machine of a plot work and fail in some parts, even if it really did not carry through on its central philosophy.

-

watching

breezing through a lot of stuff bc it's easier to sleep propped up on my couch arm than in my actual bed. i usually don’t long DNFs but has to remind myself never to try Quo Vadis again. my god is that a tiresome film. and not even pretty costumes or pretty set design for the first forty minutes. whereupon i bailed. all of these were first time watches, dunno why I haven’t been reaching for comfort movies lately

-

playing

genshin update knocking it out of the park and also really reminding me of link tearsofthekingdom. also introduces a really good bird you can possess and fly around with. lots of vertical sky/coastline exploration which is so so so fun. i have done most of the things in this update inside a week bc i don't think they anticipated unemployed people like mainlining it between applying for jobs.

this girl's village has background music that reminds me of classic american westerns like bernstein or copland? heavy billy the kid ballet vibes. the music in this update is SO good im excited to yell about it in an future week when they drop the next album.

-

making

still fallow baybee. currently incubating the influenza. no longer feverish thank u nyquil

[anmechokola]

(SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 1143)

So, a lot of interesting new information about the God's Knights!

Sommers is introduced right as the Romance Dawn trio are meeting Gaban, and it's interesting because they both talk about love, but in diametrically opposed ways.

(chapter 1139)

Gaban is the "missionary of love" (伝導師), as he puts it, saying that "love knows no bounds" (愛は自由だ, more like "to love is to be free", it's a nice touch because freedom is so important to Luffy). It's a very positive outlook, and works as a direct contrast to what Sommers has said about it.

[Fun fact: the word missionary is usually written as 伝道師 (dendoushi) but Oda wrote it as 伝導師 with the middle kanji meaning a guide or guidance. So he is the "missionary of love" but he's also like a teacher or a guide (a teacher of love? a teacher like Rayleigh was for Luffy? a guide to the last road poneglyph?)]

(chapters 1142 and 1143)

To Sommers, "to know love is to wound one another" (愛とは傷つけ合うもの), "love has its thorns" (愛しい者には棘がある) and "love is the passion to reach out and squeeze someone tight even as you see the thorns up close" (愛とは近づく程に見える棘をも抱きしめるパッション). For Gaban, love is something that sets you free and knows no boundaries. For Sommers, love is something that pins you down and hurts you. The pain is inevitable and you will willingly submit to it.

(chapter 1143)

[As an aside, the game and the theme of thorns and love brings to mind Princess Aurora (or Briar Rose) from Sleeping Beauty, since she pricks her finger and goes to sleep until True Love wakes her and her castle is enveloped in thorns, like the children are alseep and enveloped in thorns. It's a sick twist too, because getting close to the kids and expressing love for them by trying to protect them is what is going to hurt the adults around them, and not what is going to save them]

"Death by love" makes me think about the Missionary of Love having to make some sacrifices to protect his family... After all, where is Colon in all of this?

Although. That phrase also makes me think about a death that has been haunting the narrative ever since they got to Elbaf. A death that, as a lot of us have speculated, apparently isn't what it seems.

(chapter 1143)

IF King Harold isn't actually evil (I still have my doubts), then there is an argument to be had about the possibility of him dying to protect Loki, a "death by love", if you will. It could definitely be enough for Loki to accept the others' claims that he did kill his father, if he feels guilty and thinks it's his fault his father is dead.

(chapter 1143)

Killingham is, as we suspected, a Qilin Devil Fruit user! Though his powers don't seem to align too much with what I could find about Qilin mythology. They are apparently incapable of harming any living creature and are said to only appear in places ruled by benevolent leaders. There is also a legend that a Qilin appeared to announce the birth of Confucius.

[I had a whole ass analysis to try to make it a "make dreams come true" interpretation, but I saw a post where someone found that the Kirin Beer Company has an ad with Stalone where he says "we can make dreams come true" and I believe wholeheartedly that this is what inspired Oda]

His powers also mirror another theme I've talked about before that we see in the Elbaf arc, which is that things are not what they seem. His powers look like they are overkill, but it's really just smokes and mirrors. His monsters can apparently do real life damage, but they are also not impossible to defeat, seeing as Jörmungand was defeated with only two hits (even if they were done by powerful people).

(chapter 1143)

He even admits that all the food they were eating was "dream food" and so zero energy, which I interpret as it not having any lasting impact on their bodies, just a psychological fullness. It also makes me wonder about the real damage his monsters are causing, like if his food makes you feel satisfied but has no substance, do his monsters make you feel pain without any real damage? If that's the case, he would be a good opponent for Usopp, since we've already seen him battle someone with psychologically based powers (Perona in Thriller Bark). If Killingham's powers rely on people's emotions and fear-induced reactions, then Usopp's whole character arc of becoming a fearless warrior would come full circle by defeating him.

[ghelgheli]

Recognizing this central ambivalence in regard to so-called Western values—whereby they are cast out as “postmodern authoritarianism” only to be embraced as the “true spirit” of societies to come—is essential to understanding the strategic significance of the anti-gender misappropriation of postcolonial language. This ambivalence sheds light on the fact that the superficial takeover frames the “gender ideology” colonizer not simply as the “West as such but [rather as] the West whose healthy (Christian) core had already been destroyed by neo-Marxism and feminism in the 1960s” (Korolczuk and Graff 2018: 812). Very often, the anti-gender misappropriation takes on a decidedly Islamophobic hue; for all their catering to anticolonial sentiments, anti-gender thinkers often claim that “gender ideology,” with its historical roots in anti-European “neo-Marxism and feminism,” goes hand in hand with the threat of (Muslim) immigration. A blatant example of this can be found in former Cardinal Sarah’s proclamation against the two unexpected threats of our times:

On the one hand, the idolatry of Western freedom; on the other, Islamic fundamentalism: atheistic secularism versus religious fanaticism. To use a slogan, we find ourselves between “gender ideology and ISIS.” . . . From these two radicalizations arise the two major threats to the family: its subjectivist disintegration in the secularized West [and] the pseudo-family of ideologized Islam which legitimizes polygamy [and] female subservience. (Sarah 2015)

Sarah aggressively draws up a dual picture of the true enemy—the biopolitical survival of the family is threatened on the one hand by excessive secularization and sexual freedom, and on the other by “ideologized Islam’s pseudo-family,” which marks the degraded and uncivilized counterpart to Christianity’s proper tradition. This discursive construction of “terrorist look-alikes” as possessing an excessive, uncultivated, and dangerous sexuality yet again plays into the same fundamental racialized mapping of progress that colonial gender undergirded (Puar 2007). This rhetoric is mirrored by Norwegian right-wing politician Per-Willy Amundsen (2021) when he writes that:

I will never celebrate pride. First of all, there are only two sexes: man and woman, not three—that is in contradiction with all biological science. Even worse, they are allowed access to our kids to influence them with their radical ideology. This has to be stopped. If FRI [the national LGBT organization] really cared about gay rights, they would get involved in what is happening in Muslim countries, rather than construct fake problems here in Norway. But it is probably easier to speak about “diversity” as long as it doesn’t cost anything. (Amundsen 2021; translation by author) Here Amundsen draws on the well-known trope of trans* and queer people “preying on our kids” while at the same time reinforcing the homonationalist notion that Europe, and in particular Norway, is a safe h(e)aven for queer people—perhaps a bit too much so. In his response to Amundsen, Thee-Yezen Al-Obaide, the leader of SALAM, the organization for queer Muslims in Norway, aptly diagnoses Amundsen’s rhetoric as “transphobia wrapped in Islamophobia” (as quoted in Berg 2021). Amundsen mirrors a central tenet of TERF rhetoric by claiming to be the voice of science, biology, and reason in order to distinguish his own resistance to “gender ideology” from the repressive, regressive one of Muslims. In this way, his argumentation, which basically claims that trans* people don’t exist and certainly shouldn’t be recognized legally, attempts to come off as benign, while Muslim opposition to “gender ideology” is painted as destructive and anti-modern. This double gesture, which allows Amundsen to have his cake and eat it too, is a central trope in different European iterations of anti-gender rhetoric. In France, for example, such discourse claims that, “while ‘gender ideology’ goes too far on the one hand, the patriarchal control of Islam threatens to pull us back into an excessive past. Here of course, ‘Frenchness’ is always already neither Muslim, nor queer (and certainly not both)” (Hemmings 2020: 30). Therefore the French anti-gender movement sees itself as the defender of true Western civilization, both from Western “gender ideology” and from uncivilized “primitives” who are nevertheless themselves victims of “gender ideology.” A similar dynamic plays out in Britain: “Reading Muslims as dangerous heteroactivists and Christians as benign points to how racialization and religion create specific forms of heteroactivism. . . . Even where ‘Muslim parents’ are supported by Christian heteroactivists, they remain other to the nation, and not central to its defence” (Nash and Browne 2020: 145). In the British example, it is clear that white anti-gender actors represent themselves as moderate, reasonable, and caring—often claiming that their resistance to the “politicization” of the classroom has nothing to do with transphobia and homophobia.

Is “Gender Ideology” Western Colonialism? Jenny Andrine Madsen Evang

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

Kirby...

Kirby is purely idealistic, child logic almost, overcoming impossible threats and systems of hate and fear with just the enduring will to make things right, make people stop hurting other people and then he does a little dance. And like... as the games have gone on it's gotten more and more direct and more and more complex.

Kirbys kind of dumb but god if he doesnt have his heart in the right place.

Even so far back as the dream fountain he tears up the roots of a system built out of suffering and destroys the cause.

I think about how in the Amazing Mirror, in a universe where everything is a dark evil version of itself, that universe's kirby wasnt evil, he was apathetic. Jaded.

I think about how Kirby rises against incompetent and greedy kings who will eat while the common people starve, and he's been doing that this whole time.

His rising against Meta Knight's military uprising in an effort to put all of Dreamland to work in some authoritarian militocracy, dismantling the instruments of that evil one piece at a time, encountering an insurmountable threat and flying in, running through, and systematically, methodically blowing apart the Halberd limb by limb with precise strikes and sheer and incredible persistence no matter how many times it shoots him off of itself, until he comes to the final man in charge, fighting him one on one and soundly defeating him.

His quests to restore balance to discover his good intent was manipulated by thenone who caused the imbalance in the first place, only to immediately turn around and stop the problem he was used to further. Bringing down a machine, amoral in construction but weilded for cruelty, one so incredibly powerful, developed, as to be the size of a planet itself. Then destroying the greedy bastard who betrayed his trust with the power of incredible violence.

Kirby defeating enemies so vast that they could more easily be conceptualized as ideologies than as physical enemies.

Then in Planet Robobot the enemy is the CEO of an ubercorporation. The final boss is the incarnation of a ideology of evil and cruelty in the form of a planet sized cat clock.

Then in Forgotten Lands the enemy is a foreign conqueror who believes in their own superiority and aims to enslave the native people of this land even further, then tries to destroy everything out of spite when it fails.

In kirby the enemy is incompetent royalty, militaristic dictators, natural disasters, cruel systems of thought, those who destroy nature for their own gain, imperialist queens, ceos and their companies, colonizing slavers.

and the messaging has become clearer and clearer, but it is not new.

Dark Matter is godly in existance, but it infects people kind and cruel alike to do horrible things, it is like an ideology. It's a cruel way of thought. One that leaks into everything, makes art cynical makes reformed kings fall back into their old ways, turns friends cruel again. It blots out the sky. When you're fighting Dark Matter you're rarely fighting the thing itself, you're fighting your peers, whether theyre old friends or people yet to become friends, you Convince them to give up cruelty. Some don't, but some do.

Haltmann Co. is overwhelmingly huge, the Access Ark is near divine in scale and it blots out the skies, it is incomprehensible in scale and power. When you fight it it isn't the company you fight, but its workers, its assets, its managers, machines, pipelines, and employees. It twists familiar faces into profit machines, warped clones, and indoctrinated extrajudicial killing machines. It is so hard to grasp the scale of it all that it is more easily conceptualized as an ideology. You go through the entirety of it, freeing old friends and making new ones from within, you find the inherent good within the system and you gain an audience with the man in charge.

And then you kill the CEO. And then you kill his company.

And you can only do it because of your friends new and old, Susie and Metaknight, just like back in the original game you spare the well intentioned now astray once they see the error of their ways, and they're the only reason you succeed. Dedede is the only reason Kirby can even reach Nightmare, Kirby can only pursue Nova and Marx by using the same betrayed wishes which summoned Nova in the first place. Kirby can only defeat Sectonia because of Taranza and Dedede's help. Kirby can only defeat Fecto Elfilis with the help of Elflin.

Time and time again Kirby pulls the misguided good out of systems of evil and Only because of that good does he destroy the evil.

Kirby destroys the colonizing force of the Access Ark, representing all of Haltmann Co.'s incredible industry, and Stardream OS, representing the ideology of profit above all, not just with the help of his old redeemed friends, but with the help of Haltmanns Secretary. And one of the Access Ark's own assimilating robots.

Fecto Forgo is an unadulteratedly evil force, subjugating the indigenous populations of the planet it found, yet it only becomes truly perfect in its conquoring might when it absorbs Elflin, the system of evil becomes stronger, almost impossible in strength, when held together by good intention, love, compassion.

Kirby not only beats the shit out of Fecto Elfilis, he prys the good out of the evil and then they both fucking kill the evil by running it over with a semi truck.

Something about Kirby recognizing the good in the evil, the nuance of the situation, something about Kirby always giving people the chance to be redeemed—

Kirby doesn't take the good with the bad, no matter how inseperable they seem. Kirby will pull the smallest amount of good from the most disgustingly evil things, and he will take the good, and he will not take the bad.

In killing Fecto Elfilis sans Elflin, Kirby not only destroys the evil of colonial imperialism, but he destroys it with the product of colonial imperialism in the semi truck, and with the good which the evil used to prevail. And he would not have done it if either of those were missing.

Kirby offers redemption to anyone who seeks it and will pry the good from the bad and he is not just stronger because of this, but he is only succeeding because of this.

I just...

He takes good intention wherever he finds it.

Perfect is the enemy of the good, Kirby, though, is perfect in his accepting of all forms of good. No matter how much of a work in progress they are.

[sincerelylancelot]

27. things you said through a closed door - liam/franco

find the prompt list here!

“Tell me about Mars.”

The words crackle through the speaker by Franco’s ear, pulling his attention. He turns his head, frowning. Treasure Planet lies open on the data pad in his lap, where he’s been reading out loud for the past hour. The unexpected request gives him pause.

Life on the Mars colony had always been shrouded in secrecy for centuries, ever since its colonization in the late 22nd century. He can almost hear his mother’s scolding voice warning him against even thinking about discussing it in the open corridors of the ship.

“Perhaps…” The voice belongs to George, his hand pressed against the data terminal. “You could humour Ensign Lawson. The oxygen levels are depleting faster than expected. Keeping him calm would be… optimal.”

George doesn’t phrase it like a direct order, but Franco hears the unspoken urgency beneath the words.

As if to give them privacy, the commander closes his eyes and focuses entirely on the terminal. His body remains still, except for the cables linking the data center to the ports at the back of his neck. George’s sole attention is on unraveling the virus that’s infiltrated the Apex’s systems, trapping Liam on the other side of the airlock door, where the air is slowly draining away, counting down to jettison.

“What…” Franco licks his lips, suddenly nervous. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to Mars. All the old Terran books say it’s big… and red.”

Franco laughs despite himself. He wishes he could see Liam then—to see the pull of concentration between his brows and the way his ignorance would make his pale green cheeks darken. 

“They’re not wrong. But it’s so much more,” Franco begins, switching off his datapad. He shifts, glancing up at the video feed in the corner. Lining up the press of his cheek to the metal, he mirrors Liam on the other side.

“My people colonized Mars centuries ago, after the Terrans struggled to grow plant life in the harsh soil. We helped them—brought advanced technologies from other planets and terraformed what we could…” He chuckles softly. “It’s still big and red, but the trees we’ve grown are purple and flourishing. They make the air breathable. But it’s thin—you’d probably hate it, chiquito.”

Especially after this. The oxygen levels in the chamber are down to 67%, just a little lower than Mars’s surface. Liam has always hated the lightness of thin air—whether on other planets or in the void of space itself.

“Your people,” Liam’s voice is breathy, and Franco’s chest tightens. He can't panic, can't let Liam hear the anxiety threatening to claw its way out. “They change themselves, right? I always thought that was… kind of cool. Being whoever you want to be—like it’s normal. On Botschok, they wanted us to be who they designated our worth as. I wasn’t there for long, but… Illyrians sound… better.”

There’s a wistful tone to his words. They’ve only served together on the Apex for a few weeks, and Liam has always been guarded about himself. Hearing this yearning for acceptance stirs something in Franco. He wants to let Liam know he understands more than he lets on.

Instead, Franco presses his head harder into the door, letting his breath bounce against the cold surface.

“We augment,” he says softly. “Adapt to where we live. It’s not…” He hesitates, struggling to find the words. “It’s like… standardization. Everyone made the same. No differences. When I was a kid, they wanted to shave my ears down.”

A long pause follows, static buzzing faintly in the background.

“Your ears?” Liam sounds offended on his behalf, making Franco laugh.

“They’re too Vulcan for Mars. I stood out. The governors didn’t like it, but my mother…” His voice softens. “She stopped them. The points got to stay.”

“Good.” The reply is immediate, firm. It makes Franco’s chest feel warm. “I like your ears—” The comms crackle, and Franco thinks he hears the faint echo of ‘cute’ before the connection cuts off entirely.

His heart ricochets into his throat. Scrambling to his feet, Franco rushes to George, who’s begun typing at the datapad with a speed not possible for his humanoid fingers.

“What’s happening?” Franco demands.

George’s expression darkens.

“The virus has infiltrated more of our systems,” he says. His tone is calm, almost irritatingly so. Franco feels a sudden, inappropriate urge to yank the cable from George’s neck and throttle him with it.

“I am sorry, Ensign,” George continues, oblivious to Franco’s rising frustration. “It appears Lawson is on his own now.”

[mariacallous]

Well, if you’re just joining us, the nation has delivered an all-night victim impact statement. Labour has won a landslide and the Conservatives have suffered their worst ever general election result. Keir Starmer – the prime minister – has promised “national renewal … to fight until you believe again”. Liz Truss has failed to save South West Norfolk, let alone “the west”. That is the big picture (if not the whole picture, with turnout and Labour’s vote share notably low). Meanwhile, it’s incredible to think that only a short while ago we thought we’d eradicated measles and Nigel Farage. Both have now been brought back, largely by the same people.

But look, after the 3am to 7am shift, no one will be able to say the right doesn’t do comedy. There were moments worthy of entire Netflix specials as in sports halls and community centres various Dickensian grotesques were ushered into their Christmas future, live on stage. Alas, it was going to take more than buying the Cratchits a turkey to get out of this one. Jacob Rees-Mogg heard his fate standing next to a candidate wearing a baked bean balaclava. He’ll be crying into Nanny’s starched bosom today. Committed sewage apologist Thérèse Coffey was pumped into the sea in Suffolk Coastal. Andrea Jenkyns had the middle finger given to her by the voters of Morley and Outwood. In Welwyn Hatfield, Grant Shapps chanted “supermajority” five times into the mirror, and then it came for him.

Then again, Michael Portillo losing his seat was supposedly 1997’s big moment. So perhaps the question is: in two years’ time, which current hate figure will be presenting a cosy travelogue on Europe’s most picturesque illegal migration routes? Alternatively, do remember that one person’s onstage humiliation is another person’s milk round for directorships in the arms trade.

Speaking of absolute weapons, hat twat George Galloway wimped out of his own count in Rochdale, presumably out of fatigability. He lost to Labour. There was jubilation for the Lib Dems, who finished not a million miles behind “the natural party of government”, and for the Greens, who won all four of their target seats. The SNP can now squeeze its MPs round the flip-down dining table of a motorhome. Referendum arguments may move to Northern Ireland, with Sinn Féin now that nation’s largest Westminster party.

As for Reform … Farage won in Clacton, a constituency for which he will now have to hold surgeries, presumably by Zoom link from his hot desk in the US presidential colon. Or as he put it in his victory speech: “This is the first steps of something that is going to stun all of you” – at least confirming his political abattoir will be bolt-gunning its victims unconscious first. Farage is the horror version of Inside Out, where Mendacity is only just holding off Racism at the control console. His cultural hinterland extends to a single Goodbye, Mr Chips DVD he got free with the Sunday Times in 2008, and the idea that this hollow chancer should still be one of the most significant politicians of the age says everything about the age.

Anyway, back to the Conservatives’ four-hour in-memoriam reel. Penny Mordaunt, Jonathan Gullis, Michael Fabricant, Gillian Keegan, Steve Baker, Alex Chalk, Johnny Mercer, Michelle Donelan, Victoria Prentis, Liam Fox, Mark Harper … all out, along with many more. So many cabinet ministers fell that the ones who live may actually develop survivor guilt. It’s currently unclear how gruesome things will be among the extant Conservatives in this post-apocalyptic world. As a fictional president once wondered of Dr Strangelove, will the living not end up envying the dead? Far from it, Strangelove reassures him, forcing down an involuntary Nazi salute. What will abound is a spirit of bold curiosity for the adventure ahead!

Speaking of which, 13th fairy Suella Braverman finally turned up, holding on in Fareham and cooing: “I am sorry that my party didn’t listen to you. The Conservative party has let you down.” Expect to see her humbly attempting to disembowel fellow survivors Jeremy Hunt and James Cleverly in the forthcoming trial-by-combat for what convention demands we style as “the soul of the Conservative party”.

At his count, Rishi Sunak explained he’d already conceded the election in a congratulatory call to Keir Starmer, adding, “I take responsibility for the loss.” In Downing Street, he confirmed he would be standing down as Tory leader in some sort of due course, stressing, “I have heard your anger.” Then, instead of yet another speech straight from the Tortured Prime Minister’s Department, this one offered humility and magnanimity, as well as a pointed reminder of the positive (and fragile?) progress that saw him become the UK’s first British-Asian prime minister. What a contrast to the relentless negativity of his past six weeks. Sunak’s campaign was conducted like a gender-reveal party where the device that’s meant to release the puff of blue smoke accidentally functions as a pipe bomb and burns the house down.

It also closed out several years of mindboggling chaos, dysfunction and national decline. They won’t be playing anything from this album on the Conservative party’s Eras tour. The Tories have cycled through five prime ministers over the past eight years, to the point where they were recently found going through the rubbish, pulling the first guy back out, thinking, “Actually, he doesn’t look half bad now,” and making him foreign secretary. This is the behaviour of addicts.

Not that they have the monopoly on erraticism. Any dispassionate view of these results suggests the fabled post-Brexit “realignment” is more of a dealignment – the huge sweeping gains of this or that political moment able to be reversed in previously unthinkable timespans. Volatility might now be our defining electoral characteristic, and a rise in sectarian politics cannot and should not be ignored. Because hey – what’s the worst that can happen with that one? Meanwhile, many people who derided the simplistic “Get Brexit done” slogan in 2019 have pretended not to notice that the winner here went out under the even more gnomic banner of “Change”.

Yet in the wider global context, what a win. One summer evening in 1914, the foreign secretary, Edward Grey, famously remarked: “The lamps are going out all over Europe.” In our own times, a darkening has recently felt at hand, as hard- or extreme-right parties have gained ground across the continent, to say nothing of the US. But here – in this country, in this moment – a different direction has been taken. That matters today, and anyone not on the wingnut fringes, who hopes to avoid those gathering shadows, should wish Keir Starmer good luck with his task. For plenty who would snuff out the lamps are also rising – increasingly, they walk among us.

[cryptovalid]

The politics of Operation Zero Tolerance

If you've followed X-men '97, you know that's it's more than competently executed nostalgia-bait. It's a deconstruction of the original ideological framework of the X-men. I'll be riffing off of the way that Operation Zero Tolerance mirrors real world alt-right ideology and where the show might lead this theme. Spoilers ahead up to episode 8. It's a long one.

So the reflections of the January 6th insurrection, Great Replacement conspiracy and stochastic terrorism are pretty spot on. But what do the Prime candidates actually believe?

Mutants are constantly referred to as 'the next step in human evolution'. This frightens some non-mutants, who see themselves being replaced. Their solution is to subjugate mutants.

I want to focus on some of the ways this doesn't make sense first.

1. Evolution doesn't have well defined 'next steps': every new generation is slightly different from the previous, so that over time new traits will emerge and become common, and others will become less widespread. In the comics, this is not why mutants exist: the are the result of alien tampering with human dna: the Celestials implanted the X-gene in some humans. So 'mutants' are demonstrably just a strain of humanity, and the main reason humans have mutant babies is that their own genes are getting expressed in a new way.

2. No amount of control or violence can stop this. The rate at which mutants appear isn't even dependent on their own reproductive success since most mutants have human parents.

We don't know why more and more mutants are being born now, but OZT will not stop this. It's not even their goal. When they say human being are being 'replaced', they actually mean replaced as the ruling class of the planet. Bastion's 'utopia' doesn't have less mutants being born, just used as slave labor.

This really puts the anxiety of OZT into focus: they want to maintain privilege. They aren't really being 'replaced', any more than older generations are always 'replaced' by younger generations. They are primarily afraid that mutants will render them obsolete in the labor market. But if mutants can be forced to do unpaid labor for their benefit, that doesn't threaten them.

The way this parallels the rhetoric of the alt right is striking. Obviously, the reasons why jobs are moving overseas are different: colonized populations are more exploitable by capital. But the fears are the same: my children are different from me, and if I'm not valued for my labor, I will become poor. Like OZT, the alt right also chooses to enact violence even though it won't solve either of these issues. the MAGA-crowd threatens non-conformity and asserts its dominance to maintain its relative privilege over other groups. This is why it's all culture war stuff. The alt right isn't interested in striking to improve conditions for workers, it will attack immigrants and minorities they perceive as competition. Never the bosses that make the hiring decisions. It's scapegoating.

Even child and slave labor are on the table. Because again, this 'economic anxiety' isn't triggered by other people doing the work, just by other people getting money, care and respect that they feel they are owed.

It's not the solution that matters to OZT or the alt right: it's the catharsis of violence and control. It's interesting that OZT actually has a better point: mutants are inherently better at some jobs, some mutants ARE inherently dangerous. Their anxiety is way more warranted.

And I think that is what makes OZT hit so hard as an allegory: it is a steel man version of every bigot's rhetoric, and it is horrifying.

Where might the show take this theme? I don't think the show will end with the X-men fighting Magneto, as that would undermine the show's thematic support for his ideals. Magneto might be defeated, but that will not be the finale. I think the institutional support for OZT will be the closing statement.

The events of episode 8 will be blamed on the X-men. There's just too many ways that a sleeper that Wolverine cut to ribbons can be spun and Bastion has stated multiple times that he understands the optics of martyring mutants. In my opinion this explains how the primes failed to kill a single X-man, even though Trask could take down the whole team.

This twist will (I think) be used to set up the Avengers as the final threat: the X-men try to reason with Magneto, the Avengers attack him, and maybe Xavier erases Magneto's memory as a prelude to Onslaught.

Onslaught can then lead into Heroes Reborn; when Onslaught threatens to kill the Avengers and Fantastic Four, Franklin Richards creates a parallel universe, where they live out their lives in blissfull ignorance of mutants. I believe this could explain why the MCU does not have mutants: it's the Heroes Reborn Universe (The FF could live in a separate universe).

So how to put a button on OZT? I don't think that they will end as a political force (these ideas will remain relevant in the fiction as in the real world). I think the show will obviously set up a fight with Bastion, but the ideological refutation will have to come from Mrs. Da Costa. She is the poster child of an apathetic liberal, who will only support mutants in fashionable ways. If she ends the series giving up her social status to save her son, perhaps even dying, it will thematically reinforce the need for allies to be traitors of their own privilege.

This ties in with my final speculation. This is a weird one and a reach. We have not seen Roberto Da Costa's father. We also don't know where Bastion's father is (who is essentially Nimrod). Is it possible that they are half-brothers? Emmanuel Da Costa is a prominent anti-mutant member of the Hellfire Club, and it's strange he hasn't shown up yet. Honestly, this could possibly explain why Roberto is so light-skinned. Which I do not want to make excuses for otherwise.

[atticsandwich]

Exploring how Obey Me!'s portrayal of the Celestial Realm mirrors that of the how the Christian heaven is used as propaganda, and how Simeon, Luke, and Raphael tie-in with real-life people's experiences of the Christian faith.

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to preface: I was born Christian and was raised as such, but renounced my religion when I was around 18. Experiences vary in different parts of the world of course, however, I will also be tying in things I see from online conversations about Christianity. Admittedly a lot of my insight comes from my experience (and by extension, my family and friends) of Christianity in my area of the world (southeast asia).

Additionally, this post is purely for fun and speculation, and my fascination with subversive portrayals of religion, particularly of Christianity. Please note that I will use the word "religion" as a whole, but this post will specifically go into Christianity, and by proxy, its branches.

As this post is a spur-of-the-moment thing, it is not proofread, so I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors!

‼️This post will contain spoilers‼️

To start, let's lay out the things we know about the Celestial Realm from the story.

The Celestial Realm is home of the angels, and in contrast to the Devildom, it is a realm of permanent daylight.

Michael acts as its authority, however, we know that its most supreme being is the Father, who we can presume created the realm and its angels. Unlike the sleeping Demon Lord, we are at least aware that Father is still active, although presumably leaves the governing to Michael.

Similar to real-life angelology, the Celestial Realm also divides its angels by ranks. The current known ranks are Seraphim, Throne, Cherubim, Principality, Dominion, and Archangel.

Key observations:

Angels can either fall to become demons (demon brothers) or be stripped of their blessing and become human (Simeon).

Luke's current angel rank is unknown. We can assume this is from inexperience, as despite being implied to be at least a thousand years old, he acts and behaves like a typical ten year old.

Although "falling" can be a punishment by acting out of defiance against its virtues, we know that angels can still be morally grey, and in some cases, dubious, and still not be stripped of their blessing.

Now to the bulk of this analysis.

I. Christianity as a tool for propaganda and colonization

This is pretty basic history - western colonizers have used religion as a basis of conquering "new worlds" in the name of spreading their faith and belief systems. The effects of this still persist until today - racism, homophobia, etc. in general can be traced back to the colonial era. In more present-day scenarios, religion is also used as a leverage for morality and what people deem as "right or wrong". For some parts, it aligns with basic humanity, however, we know very well that it can also be used to spread bigotry and false moral high grounds as a justification for mistreatment of people.

In many countries, politics and religion go hand in hand. Many politicians will use their beliefs as a basis for bills and laws, and it trickles down to the justice system, where judges can display religous bias (whether consciously or not) in favor of their personal beliefs. As such, many politicians will use religion to forward their name and agenda, in the pretense of being a devout practicioner, in order to garner relatability and bias from people of the same faith. In Christianity, for example, many politicians will use the term "Lord's servant" as a subtext for people to latch onto.

In a societal context, we are very familiar with the phrase "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve" as a rebuttal for homosexual relationships, and in general, relationships that bigoted Christians believe do not follow in their God's text. Cherry-picking bible verses and anecdotes to further their justification for acting the way they do is also a very common occurence, even though that very same Bible they read also emphasize the value of spreading love, with hate having no place in heaven.

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II. How it ties to the Celestial Realm

Behind its perma-daylight nature, we learn that the Celestial Realm is a place of strict rule and order, and an angel can easily get demoted, as was the previous case for Simeon, who we know was originally a Seraphim, and in some cases, even falling to demonhood, like the brothers. This walking-on-eggshells type of ordinance is very tricky, as the reasoning for being casted out of the realm can get very blurry. In Lilith's case, it was her act of using Celestial Realm medicine in order to heal a human she loved; this then led to Lucifer questioning why her act was tantamount to falling, as he always believed love to be a precious thing. This doubt and questioning, however, then led to his own falling, which led to the rest of the brothers siding with him and Lilith, resulting in the Great Celestial War.

We can then paint a picture of the Celestial Realm as a false/disillusioned utopia - externally, it is very lavish, warm, and golden, but taking a closer look reveals its suffocating, anti-freedom, gray nature, where one wrong move could spell your last day. Simeon is very much aware of this, and has, on multiple occassions, openly expressed disdain on how the realm operates.

It is then a matter of Self vs. Governance; at what point does the Celestial Realm draw the line between individual autonomy and total subjugation of its angels? If Lucifer, once one of its most prominent, respected, and powerful angels, gets casted due to defiance for asking a very valid question regarding a value that is taught and propagated within the realm, as he believes Lilith's punishment directly goes against that value, then what of the lesser angels who wish to ask the same? If standing up for those you hold dear is tantamount to unholiness, then why teach the value of love and family in the first place?

I hope you can see where I'm going here - the teaching of these values in the Celestial Realm being the same ones that can get you ostracized VS. using these values to advance a real-world political agenda and cherry-picked beliefs is intrinsically linked.

People that use religion as a means to justify cruelty or feign moral superiority despite the main point of their religion being to "love everyone equally, as you do yourself" are setting a status quo that they built for themselves and their hivemind - if you don't follow these specific rules and beliefs, you are not a true devout. If you question or point out inaccuracies on the beliefs that we want you to follow, you are a deviant.

Sound familiar yet?

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III. The three main angels

Excluding Michael and the demon brothers pre-fall, there are three other angels the story focuses on: Luke, Simeon, and Raphael. Despite all three being angels, they cannot be any more similar from each other. One is a brash, tempermental, and an overexcited youth with a sweet tooth; one freely lies and openly involves themselves in un-angelic deeds; and the other is a quiet, stoic, and blunt individual with a questionable taste in cuisine. These three angels encapsulate, almost perfectly, a religous pipeline.

IIIA. Luke

Luke represents the first entry to a religion (I'd use the word indoctrination, but I don't want to unknowingly portray it negatively as some people are born into a religion by default). He is young, inexperienced, idolizes a high-ranking angel who he follows with no question, and above all, naive. We know that he does not know the full reason of why the brothers fell, nor does he know of Lilith. Similarly, children and young people in religion often follow their parents/guardians blindly without question, their understanding of faith being minimal and surface level, something easily digestible for a young, developing mind.

IIIB. Raphael

Raphael is compliance. He knows and understand the ins-and-outs, the ifs-and-whys of the realm, yet continues to follow its order. Although he did not side with Lucifer, we eventually learn that he wishes he did (most recently in NB), yet unlike Simeon, does not actively wallow in his choice and continues to fulfill his duty as a Seraph. Whether we see a development with this in Nightbringer, time will tell. In a similar vein, many people will silently comply with their own faith, regardless of doubt. In my experience, this compliance, either out of familial pressure or feeling indebted to a religion, starts to happen during major developmental stages, either as a late teen or early adulthood, when you can freely do your own research and start to understand the deeper intricacies of a particular religion.

IIIC. Simeon

Simeon is representative of actively going against the status quo. He is an angel that has, on numerous occassions, displayed manipulative and wrathful tendencies, and has admitted to freely partake in lies and deceit. He has also stated that his biggest regret in life was not siding with Lucifer during the war, which is why he actively tries to help him and the brothers as much as he can, not caring if his action could be deemed as heresy. Although we see bits and pieces of it in the original game, Nightbringer Simeon fully procalims this, as asking him to ally with the brothers will result to him in saying that he always will be on their side. In real life, people have their own breaking point that leads them to this path, no matter how personal or educated the reasoning may be. Denouncing one's faith, especially one that was given to you by birth, can be considered an act of both defiance, and in the case of Christianity, becoming unholy, or impure.

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IV. The Celestial Realm as a commentary of how religion, particularly Christianity, is used in real life as a tool to further a cherry-picked, propaganda-ridden agenda, despite it being a contradiction to its teachings.

It is no secret that a lot of societal problems nowadays regarding bigotry, refusal of understanding, and unacceptance of others outside your status quo can be traced back to religous conservatives. This is a walking contradiction, of course, as Christian teachings always puts love above all, yet bringing this up as a rebuttal will elicit anger, not reflection. The Celestial Realm is the same, as its blurry definition of defiance goes against its importance of love and familial relationships, so much so that in its eyes, an angel trying to elicit defiance by acting un-angel-like is ultimately a lot more angelic than one who dares question why its teachings are being used as a leverage of defiance.

Of course, a lot of this can be chalked up to mere coincidence, and some might even say that I'm stretching a lot here, but it's still very interesting that a portrayal of heaven is morally ambigous at best. In some ways, the Devildom, or what's supposed to be hell, feels like the better place to live in out of the two.

Anyways, if you made it this far, thank you for reading my random spat-out ramble that i started writing out of nowhere and I fixated on finishing 💀 Share your thoughts with me too, if you'd like. I'd love to hear what you guys think.

[ananke-xiii]

alternative Jack Kline's story just bc I re-watched an episode and remembered how much of an inspiration "Good Omens" was for SPN:

in this fantasy Kelly Kline stays the same but she doesn't work for the White House but for another organization (you'll see) butJack's not the son of the US president but he's the son of the UK ambassador to the US who, we then find out by the end of S12, is actually the head of the British Men of Letter that Sam kills during the attack on the BMoL base (it has to be Sam bc I simply won't accept that coward decision of having Jody kill the BMoL boss, also Sam is the family members exterminator and I need him to be the one who kills Jack's biological father for parallel&mirror reasons).

You would ask but why would the head of the BMoL accept being possessed by Lucifer? It's simple, I'd say, it's because Lucifer promises him (let's call him... how shall I call him? I dunno, Edward or George or perhaps Oliver, you pick) to "colonize" the US hunters network which, btw, doesn't really exist lol, but you know them British and their colonizing fantasies so it'd make sense in the overall economy of the BMoL storyline.

I just think it'd be more interesting this way and it'd be a nice homage to the source materials (which is not only "Good Omens" but of course also the movie "The Omen", 1976). I like the idea that both Jack's parents are actually part, if not of the hunting world, at least of the general "supernatural" world, but they're on the "wrong" side of it (wrt the Winchesters). If I can increase the drama, I should increase the drama, right? Since everything stays the same (Sam&Co do manage to de-possess Jack's father from Lucifer), this would give me space to explore the dynamic between Kelly and Oliver, let's call him that bc I lke its meaning, bc it'd be a super fucked-up situation but since they are BMoL they do have their own plan wrt to Jack and his status of Nephilim. Like, since nothing really changes in this fantasy Kelly is still very much "just there" (ugh) but at least she's got a little more agency because she actually knows what she's dealing with and she's initially not alone trying to navigate this situation. Also, Sam killing Oliver would make the situation even worse than it already is because Kelly would hate Sam and Dean's guts even more and Sam and Dean would hate Kelly's guts as well bc, yk, she and her organization were planning on murdering them, so Castiel's betrayal is even more scathing...

Okay I'm getting carried away and I need to think it through but I think I can make it work.

[thewickerking]

also. Sorry. *applies my clown makeup* as a usamerican i do find a majority of this sites complaints about americans incredibly stupid. the us is pretty huge and has one of the largest populations by country in the world. This is not an excuse for ignorant behavior or anything, but generalizations of americans as these classist stereotypes of conservative hicks and people who don't think other countries are real and don't care abt their struggles is like. incredibly ignorant and complaining about us racism like it's unique (specific things might be sure, but europe isn't less racist and bigoted. France banning hijab, treatment of romani people on a wide scale, plenty of governments backing israel, etc.) Like. Respectfully there's no place in the world safe from all forms of bigotry and ur not better than americans for having Healthcare liiiike. Ppl will mock our government for being bad like there's zero criticism of it within the. Entirety of the us. And also like there aren't bad governments and officials and decisions made in europe????? Like honestly if a european wants to criticize the us i don't want to hear it bc it's likely going to be as biased and closeminded as they claim all americans are. And like there are reasonable things to say about the closeminded usamericans that exist and cultural norms that are bad, and so many other things but people act like it's unique to usamericans and none of its unique!!! the patterns of colonization that seep through everything are everywhere and u need to look in the mirror before complaining abt other countries having problems!! Also like. The constant mockery of systems in place that. Kill people. Our healthcare, school shootings, homelessness crises, etc. Like okay cool did you have fun making fun of victims of harmful systems? Did that make you feel nice and perfect thiusands of miles away? ALSO. there's much to be said abt us centric websites n shit but ppl started talking about that and now white europeans latched onto being morally Right to complain abt the us everytime there's even the slightest hint that someone might live here. Like us centrism is a thing that should be talked about! Stop complaining in the fucking notes of a poll asking if you think damn is a swear and acting like it pains you to have to deal with a slightly different culture. I'm going to rip my hair out. Not going into detail cause this already too long but it's also worth saying that white europeans will very much mock and complain about things being american and bad when it's like. Black people existing. Fat people existing. Disabled people existing. Like okaaaaay complain abt the meanie bigoted american. Call us obese and stupid and aggressive and ignorant. Really shows that you're the good, not bigoted person in this scenario 😐😐

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for trying to save my father?

I (30F) work as a secretary for H (50M), who is currently the president of a colonization company.

Now, this may sound horrible, but I'm not here for that business. I'm his secretary for one reason only: to remind him that I'm his daughter.

When I was a child, he was experimenting with an eldritch computer machine. Something went wrong, and I was sucked into a portal to another dimension. I managed to survive and returned to my original dimension as an adult. However, by the time I saw him again, he didn't recognize me at all.

As it turns out, he had tried using the computer to revive me. Since I was still alive, it was impossible. This, coupled with the computer's impact on his brain, left him a shell of his former self.

I won't deny that my actions in aiding him to mechanize multiple planets might be questionable. Yet, it was necessary for my plan to work, moreover, I believe these planets were wasting their natural resources by not utilizing them. So, I'd like to think we did them a favor.

Everything was going well until we attempted to mechanize a star-shaped planet with abundant nature and clean air. I was excited, and to add to it, I encountered a handsome knight we'll call M (37M). I couldn't resist turning him into a cyborg, so he became our company’s security guard and the upgrades I implanted in him made him so much stronger!

However, there was this kid, K (10NB), who kept breaking into our buildings and destroying our stuff (Rude!). It seemed like they were trying to stop us from mechanizing their planet. When I gently explained how their people were relatively expendable compared to the planet's natural resources, they got mad and attacked me! (Well, more like I provoked the fight, but I know they had a bone to pick with me.)

I tried stopping them by any means, commanding M to attack them, using clones of their arch-nemesis, upgrading and deploying M against them again. Yet, they defeated everything. I got so mad that I was about to attack them myself, but then H intervened and told me to stop, so I complied.

Subsequently, H started fighting K, and predictably, he lost. So, he summoned the eldritch computer. I saw my chance and swiftly took the helmet he used to control it right off his head! I was thrilled at the prospect of selling it and finally reuniting with my father.

… However, the machine had a mind of its own. It zapped me and erased all my father's memories to use him as a vessel. Apparently, it aimed to eliminate us "imperfect, fragile life forms" for the company's eternal prosperity.

I was devastated by this turn of events and could do nothing but give K one of my remaining machines and watch them defeat my father, sealing his fate.

I am now the president of the company, feeling unsure of what to do. I thought I was doing the right thing, but M was so terrified of the mechanizations I did to him that even his evil mirror version fears me.

I'm utterly lost. AITA?